Page 68 of The Secrets We Built Together

"She just needed a little reassurance," he said quietly.

As I approached, Amelia's eyes found mine, and she gave a sleepy gurgle that somehow felt like approval. The three of us stood there in a strange tableau—not quite the family we were pretending to be, but something more than the arrangement we'd claimed.

When Amelia finally drifted back to sleep, we returned to the living room, where the DCFS paperwork still lay scattered across the coffee table. Reality rushed back in, and I could feel both of us struggling with what had just happened between us.

Xander ran a hand through his hair. "Blake, about what just happened—"

"Let's not overthink it," I said quickly, surprising myself. "We're adults. We're attracted to each other. It doesn't have to complicate things." Even as the words slipped through my lips I recognised them for the fear they were, and I hated the sound of every single one.

He studied me for a long moment. "Is that what you want? To not complicate things?"

I wasn't sure what I wanted anymore. "I think we have enough to figure out with the DCFS visit. Maybe we just... take this one day at a time? And that’s not me saying I don’t want to try. I do, I want to see where this is going. I just need it to be slow."

He nodded, smiling softly. "One day at a time sounds reasonable."

Xander reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek in a way that made my heart stutter. "But just so we're clear, I don't regret any of it."

"Neither do I," I admitted softly.

“And I meant every word I said. But if you need more time to think it through, then I can give you all the time you need. Just know that you’re important to me Blake and I’m not done trying to prove to you that we could have something special together.”

“I don’t need time as in space. I want to try this with you. I want… I want you. I just need to figure out how that works.”

“I want you too,” he whispered. “I was a fool to ever think that I didn’t.”

When he kissed me again, it was different than before—less desperate, more deliberate. Like a promise neither of us was ready to voice.

We didn't talk about what it meant. We didn't try to define our arrangement. But as we organised the paperwork without discussion, I knew something fundamental had shifted between us.

And I wasn't sure I could ever go back to just pretending. There was so much to lose if this went wrong, but maybe that was a normal part of life, and what kind of life would I have if I didn’t take the beautiful risks that came along with actually living it?

Chapter 26

Xander

The rehabilitation center looked nothing like it had a week ago. Tables lined the walls of the main room, covered with white cloths that Blake was busy arranging with an artist's precision. Clusters of wildflowers sat in mason jars that caught the afternoon light, scattering it across the newly finished hardwood floors. Someone—probably Reece—had strung fairy lights along the exposed beams of the ceiling, giving the whole space a warm glow that made it feel less clinical.

I was proud of what we'd accomplished. Proud and terrified in equal measure.

"Stop hovering and make yourself useful," Booker said, shoving a box of glasses into my arms as he passed.

I grunted under the unexpected weight. "I'm supervising."

"You're brooding." He stopped and looked me over with that insufferable big-brother stare. "This is supposed to be a celebration, not a funeral."

"I'm not brooding," I protested, setting the box down on one of the tables. "I'm... contemplating."

"Same thing, different syllable count." Booker thumped me on the shoulder before moving on to harass Trace, who was fumbling with the sound system in the corner.

Maybe I was brooding a little. The soft opening of the ranch's rehabilitation center was a bigger deal than I wanted to admit. This wasn't just Booker's dream anymore—it was mine too. We'd poured so much into this place—time, money, sweat, and a significant amount of cursing when that one wall refused to come down without a fight. And in two days, actual patients would be walking through those doors, putting their trust in what we'd built.

My eyes found Blake again, watching as she bent to adjust a flower arrangement. Amelia was strapped to her chest in the baby carrier, her little head bobbing as Blake moved. Even from here, I could see her tiny hands reaching for the flowers, and Blake's patient redirection each time.

They were my world now. Both of them.

The realization still hit me sometimes, like a physical blow to the chest. How had this happened? How had I gone from a man barely clinging to sobriety, adrift in his own life, to this? To someone with roots and responsibilities and so damn much to lose?

Blake must have felt me staring because she looked up, her eyes finding mine across the room. She smiled—that private smile she seemed to reserve just for me—and my chest tightened with an emotion I still struggled to name aloud.

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